Dark Vine
by silentlyatnight
Summary: Whenever Frank thinks of their story, the image of a dark vine wells before his eyes. That's how it started: a garden in the moonlight. It was never supposed to end...


**QLFC, s5, round10 - Music Through the Decades  
Team: Wanderers (the best team ever!)  
Chaser 1 - Task: 1990's: One Sweet Day — Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men**

 **Prompts: (emotion) fear, (word count) 2000, (image) derelict house**

 **Golden Snitch: Ollivander's Wand Shop - write about a Slytherin**

 **Beta(s): DinoDina, Kage Kitsune, Aelys Althea — thank you so much :3**

 **word count (according to GDocs): 2000**

 **Warning: canon hints at torture**

* * *

 _Sorry I never told you  
All I wanted to say  
Now it's too late to hold you  
'Cause you've flown away  
So far away_

A familiar cackle is the only warning Frank gets before his wife falls to her knees, hit by the same rush of red light that was cast upon him.

Seeing her twitch in pain and grind her teeth in an attempt to withhold a scream, ignoring the trembling and pain running through his own body, he shifts to his left. He tries to reach her, to take their attackers by surprise, but he soon finds himself held at wand point. Another vicious curse hits his chest, causing him to land on the floor with breath shortening. Bending, falling, he slams his hands down to support himself as a gush of blood and bile climb up his throat. He needs to let them out. _Now!_ His lungs burn from the Cruciatus and hurt — a broken rib must be pressing against them — and if he tried to resist the need to throw up, he'd suffocate to death. He can't afford to pretend he's not affected by their torture anymore — his body's betraying him.

Raising his head, his glassy gaze wandering through their torturers' faces, he finds the pair of eyes he's looking for and silently begs for that absurdity to end; neither Alice nor he know anything about their damned Lord's fate — no one does — torturing them is pointless. But in those dark, stormy eyes, he can only read the desire to destroy him and his family, anger and madness occasionally surfacing through ominous glows.

All he can see in those black abysses that were once home to him is ruin and abandon.

His head twirls as a sinister realization dawns on him. Bellatrix knows — has always known — she won't get any information from them, but it's not her precious _Dark Lord_ 's fate that's at stake now. It's not Voldemort she cares about. That was just an excuse to burn down Frank's new life, a life in which she's not included.

In that moment, looking at that once beloved face, he experiences again that disorienting feel typical of any travel by Portkey as the world seems to crumble around him. He can no longer hear Alice's muffled screams, their torturers' laughs, can no longer see the room, the house…

It's all lost. All vanished.

Everything is irrelevant in comparison to those cruel eyes that are fixed upon him like a demanding and invisible noose.

Bellatrix has never been a gentle, delicate woman, but she has never worn masks. Unlike her sister, she has never been able to. A proud and exuberant girl… but _that_ — his Bellatrix — doesn't exist anymore. The woman in front of him does resemble her: the same hair and face and gown. But all the warmth and passion are gone; she probably lost them without even noticing, without suffering.

"What have they done to you?" As soon as the dismayed whisper falls from his lips, Frank finds himself catapulted into reality again. The screams, the laughs, the room, the house — everything pulls tighter around him in a strange cacophony that makes his head spin.

For a long moment, the Death Eater — for for she was nothing more in his mind — doesn't acknowledge his words in any way; then, an evil grin eerily tugs at her lips, twisting her features. It isn't a grimace of bitterness, nor one of derision. In Frank's eyes, it's rather a mix of the two conflicting feelings that exist in uncertain equilibrium in her soul and she can't hide.

She hates him, that's for sure, as much as she loved him in the past — and how can it be otherwise? He abandoned her to build himself a happy family, leaving her be taken and turned into a monster, because he was too busy admiring Alice's sweetness and fearing Bellatrix's madness to truly let the latter know what love felt like.

Now, he is going to pay the price for her torn soul.

Frank's gaze wanders once again.

The buzzing of the spells has stopped; Alice is crumpled in a corner, her little frame shaking, and his heart aches to wrap her up in her arms. But he can feel Bellatrix's wand brushing his temple, and see the others' aimed at his wife.

He knows none of them would dare curse him without Bellatrix's permission — this is private matter — but he's worried for Alice. She's being punished for something she's never had any control over.

Once again, he moves to put himself between his wife and their attackers, but a hand claws into his arm and holds him back.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks, struggling to straighten.

Bellatrix lowers her wand as if it weighed thousands of pounds, and something vaguely like hope seems to enter her eyes. "There might be another… way, Frank-y." She adds the last letter as an afterthought, a childish pout forming on her lips and wrinkling her forehead.

There's a longing sigh behind those words, a need that he hasn't heard since their time at Hogwarts. Memories and regrets, triggered by that old nickname, crowd his mind then, drowning him.

It's been too long since he last heard it.

...

The beginning is easy to describe, harder to understand, but whenever Frank thinks of their story, the image of a dark vine wells before his eyes. That's how it started: a garden in the moonlight.

...

 _They were but children and had yet to form any attachments for such words as 'Mudblood' or 'Blood traitor.'_

 _Their families still met each other on formal occasions._

 _That evening, he was hidden behind a bush, the grass caressing his ankles, when a dark figure came down the walkway._

 _Frank couldn't distinguish the color of her hair from the shadows that surrounded them both, but he knew it was black._

 _He found himself walking towards her, carefully approaching her from behind._

" _You should stop dwelling on it, you know," Bellatrix said without even turning. "I mean what your mother just told you. You don't have to think of it. Just accept it."_

 _He snorted. "Accept it? But it's my life we're talking about_ —"

 _When she turned, her eyes held a level of understanding that puzzled him. "Well, you can't do anything about it," she said. "Rebelling will only get you in trouble."_

Rebelling? Trouble? _Frank couldn't understand why she was so worried; his mother was harsh, but would soon resign herself. He knew he had magic and would receive his Hogwarts letter; he just didn't want to be forced to show it all the time._

" _It's only a matter of time…" Bellatrix whispered, getting closer to him. "Just wait until you get to Hogwarts."_

" _I hate compromises." He looked elsewhere. Something about her made him uncomfortable and restless._

" _You'll be just helping them destroy you if you insist on this path. I saw it happen."_

What?

" _It doesn't matter what you want; only what you can become_ — _and being born into important families, we can both become powerful. Then, and only then, I won't need this family anymore and I'll be free." She smirked, and her white teeth glowed in the moonlight. "Patience is the only way."_

 _Frank stared at her, baffled._

 _Dangerous sparkles crackled in her eyes as she bent forward and firmly gripped his hands. "Franky, we could be powerful_ — _unbeatable_ — _together."_

 _She strengthened her hold on him, and that touch_ — _cold and demanding_ — _more than her mad words drew Frank in._

...

What happened next will always be a blur in his mind. One thing's for sure: he started finding her by his side more and more often, unexpected, his name falling from her lips, his arm caught in her hand. The more her roots enveloped his soul, the fonder he grew of that girl who was fascinated by white roses for no other reason than to stain them.

At that time, it was natural to think they'd always gravitate towards each other.

…

" _I didn't know you liked roses, Bellatrix," he said, looking at the rosebush that, defying any law, blossomed in the Forbidden Forest._

 _She tilted her head, the gentle breeze brushing a lock of hair across her cheek_ — _ebony against alabaster_ — _but he resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear._

" _They are so white, so pure…" She plucked a rosebud away and brought it close to her eyes, a sinister glint flashing through them. "I want to stain them to make them more similar to me…" She threw the flower away and looked at Frank. "How did you find me?"_

" _I wasn't looking for you. I just needed some peaceful place."_

 _Bellatrix chuckled. "The Head Boy in the Forbidden Forest."_

" _Don't forget said Head Boy is a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors are notorious for breaking rules," he said, sitting down next her. "And I could always blame you, a Slytherin, for tricking me into this."_

 _The mischievous smile he got made his heart swell with something dangerously similar to affection._

...

It's always been so easy, so natural between them, that it never occurred to him that he may lose her — and, most importantly, that it would be his fault. Clearly, he was wrong.

From what little he remembered from Hogwarts Herbology class — Alice was the expert — vines are very difficult to get rid of, so he didn't even try. He just accepted that they shared something deeper than just their pure blood, accepted that for each time one of them disappeared for a while, Bellatrix would cling all the more fiercely to his arm.

Neither of them seemed to dwell on whatever they had; whenever some secretive smile or understanding look was shared, they were quick to hide it so that it seemed a trick of the light.

It was an odd relationship; he loved her, and she searched for him — it was like she was trying to assure herself he was still there by her side.

He usually was, but — he now realizes once again as a shiver runs down his spine — whatever was between the two of them was implied on both parts.

He couldn't let himself fall for her more than he already had because it was common knowledge that her hands leaked poison, that her madness creeped on the ground around her, and yet… Maybe, like any Gryffindor, he had a special affection for playing with fire, never understanding what was at stake.

He was blind to how much she actually needed him to stay anchored, to believe some light existed and could be found.

Now, it was too late. With his silence, he'd let her slip through his fingers.

 _Too late_. Staring into those cold, bottomless eyes, he realizes that even Bellatrix has always worn a mask; hers was just more effective than her sisters'.

Suddenly, guilt gnaws at him, exploding in his stomach, hot, burning, implacable.

Bellatrix, Alice, Neville… Dozens of faces well before him — all lost because of him, because he couldn't bring himself to bring warmth into a forlorn house. He never knew she needed it.

Bellatrix raises her wand.

This is the end.

There's too much anger and bitterness in her to care about her life anymore, and he knows she won't let him live — not without her.

Too many things are still unsaid, but fixing five years of silence can't be done now. Frank, once again, remains silent, focusing on Alice's sobs — she's still alive, and he can only hope Bellatrix will be content with just his death.

Bellatrix half-closes her eyes, preventing him from reading more into them, and flicks her wand. "Goodbye, Frank-y."

And if her voice trembled in fear and as she cast that last spell, only Frank could tell, but that secret has been carried away by the wind.


End file.
